3. Lovesick

A few weeks go by before you see Fred again, other than glimpses in the great hall or the common room. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind, to the point that your friends have begun noticing you blushing when they speak his name. 

Then, on a grey Saturday morning, George practically shoves Fred into the door of the infirmary, shouting ‘he’s gravely ill!’ before slamming the door. You look up skeptically as Fred makes his way over. 

“What was that all about?” you ask, but he waves the question away.

“Don’t mind him, what are you up to?” 

“Uh, I’m at work. Working. What are you up to?”

“I thought you might be able to help me with something,” he says slyly.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that. You seem to have a good, er, bedside manner, charming and all, and I thought I might ask you for advice.”

“Is someone you know ill?” you ask curiously.

“No, not exactly. It’s more personal advice, actually,” he says, holding back a sheepish grin.

“Well, as it stands, I’ve only got ten minutes before my shift ends, so start talking, carrot top.” He stands up and paces with his hands behind his back as he talks.

“So,” he begins, taking a deep breath. “Well, first, can you keep a secret?” he asks. You nod. “I have feelings for someone. And I think she has feelings for me too. The way she looks at me, laughs at my jokes.” He looks at you goofily. “I’m not daft, you know, Y/N. I have an eye for these things.”

You blink back at him, unsure what he’s insinuating, afraid to assume.

“Anyway, there’s something this person doesn’t know about me. Something she might not like, or… it’s hard to explain. Not that I think she’d ever be mean, it’s just a secret is all. But also perhaps she doesn’t need to know yet, or she might not care at all, but maybe it’ll be weird to her or just… surprising, and, I don’t know,” he says. “It’s nothing bad!” he adds hurriedly. “Just different from what you might expect, is all. It’s sort of a… physical thing.”

“I think,” you say carefully, surprised to see him flustered and rambling like this, “that anyone would be absolutely mad to turn you down over something like that. I mean, what is it, a third nipple? Birthmark? Ass hair?” you laugh. “I’ve seen it all in here, and most people are way more self conscious than they have any right to be. Every body is different. If she gives you the shaft over a blemish or what have you, I say screw her. Although not literally!” you laugh awkwardly at your own joke. Fred stops pacing and sits down in the intake chair beside your desk. 

“You think so?” he asks, gazing directly at you now. 

“I really do. You’re a very handsome boy Fred, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” you say decidedly. At this point, it seems obvious to you that he must have a crush on someone else. You have to admit, it disappoints you, but you try to hide your sadness until he leaves.

“Oh, no need to say that,” he says, looking away.

“I’m only telling you the truth. You should talk to her,” you say. “Now shove off, I have to get some things done here before Pomfrey gets back.” You pat him on the shoulder as if to physically nudge him in the right direction, and he leaves, looking thoughtful.

You mope through the rest of your shift, wondering who he’s interested in that isn’t you. Of course, you didn’t expect that he had feelings for you, necessarily, but you had thought you detected some chemistry when he was here in the infirmary. He had even thrown a note to you during a house meeting and you’d bantered back and forth in secret. You suppose you just completely misinterpreted things. You’re so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you don’t even stop to think what Fred’s secret is, nor do you really care. You’re sure it’s no big deal. Maybe he has a wart in a funny place or something.